Wishing on Stars
by TalkingOakTrees
Summary: <html><head></head>A semi-bittersweet moment of realization</html>


**AN: Hey guys. This is me writing somewhat seriously. I've had this idea floating in my head for a long time, and for the past few weeks I've just been peicing it together. I haven't been able to focus very much on my other story (Death the Kid Goes Shopping) so if you read that, I apologize, and I promise the next chapter will be up by the wekend (hopefully)! This is just me exploring the inside of Soubi's mind... criticism is expecially helpful here, beause this is a little more serious than what I usually write, so I would really, really love to hear what you think. I would really like to improve, and I'll take nothing personally, so feel free to express yourself as liberally as you'd like in a review or a message. Thank you very much for reading this, it's probably going to end up as a serious of oneshot moments for Loveless, possibly a thread of moments in Soubi's mind, I'm not sure what direction it's going in, I'd just love for feedback on this portion. As per usual, I don't own anything. Well, I think that's a long enough note, so, without further adeu, TOTS presents:**

_Wishing on Stars_

_~A semi-bittersweet moment of realization~_

In the coming years, he'd remember that night better than any of the others, as the night he truly realized what was going on. He'd said those words, had those thoughts, had doubts on whether or not he'd actually ever feel this way.

After all, how could a small grade-school boy compare in any way, shape, or form to the magnificence that was Seimei? Or the strength that had been Ritsu?

He'd been ordered to love. Love a boy he had never met. Just love him. By the one who hated him.

Of course, he'd never be so bold as to say it. He would have been punished.

But he would have loved the punishment.

He hated the pain. Hated the feeling of blood trickling down his back. Hated the stinging of the whip, or the cutting of the knife. But he loved the burn. Yes, he embraced the hot, exploding pain, loved the feelings it stirred, the feelings it brought.

Because after all, pain is still a feeling.

After a while, he'd wish for the pain, the agony, the hurt. As much as he hated it, the scars made it easier to live in the world. Every fresh cut, every new nerve ending fried, every angry raw mark that left his skin screaming was viciously welcomed. His entire body needed even the most agonizing tormented forms of attention, because it was starved of any other treatment, any other forms of connection with humanity.

Seimei told him to love it. So he did.

Seimei told him to love Ritsuka. So he did.

But how could he love something so alien, so unnatural, to him? Loveless was not his name. Beloved was the one carved into his skin. Carved on to his soul.

He took a drag on his cigarette, standing under the moon, outside a house he'd visited many times before. Seimei's house.

But Seimei was dead. It was Ritsuka's.

Ritsuka's house.

Ritsuka was his master now.

Loveless, one without love. Whom he'd been ordered to love. The fresh agonies of another betrayer, of another to look down on him, another to disrespect him, toss him around, treat him like dirt.

But Ritsuka wasn't like that. Gentle, innocent Ritsuka, still a child in so many ways, yet so damn haunted. He was just a child who had known too much about the world. Ritsuka, who would never harm him. Ritsuka, with his twitching ears, his wide eyes, his desperate hugs, Ritsuka, desperately searching for a boy he may have been, may not have been. Yes, this boy knew far, far too much about the world, more than anyone with mercy would allow a child to know. After all, a childhood was brief. Children only had those fleeting years of innocence allotted to them, that small window where the world was a good, whole place. Why steal away those precious moments? That little, insignificant child, that small, imperfect being, opposite to everyone he had ever known. When they had first met, he had loved him. Because Seimei had told him to. And Seimei was God.

But now… it wasn't Seimei giving him commands, it was Ritsuka demanding the truth. It wasn't Seimei with a whip, it was Ritsuka with homework. It wasn't the tortured burn of physical agony; it was the blissful ache of a heart well aware.

Seimei had made him feel alive.

Ritsuka made him feel human.

It was worth it, to endure, with Seimei, he could take it all in silence, never once uttering a sound from the pain. With Ristuka…

The pain wasn't physical. He could not label it as pain, although it hurt. It hurt him more than anything Seimei had ever said, anything Ritsu had ever done. But maybe it hurt more because of the wonder that came with it.

This pain, this miserable ache, stayed lodged in his chest, swelling inside of him, pricking his eyes, overwhelming him with longing for something beyond what he should expect. The pain of heartache, of unrequited love, throbbing a forbidden taboo in his breast. He was happy. Never would all of the words in the universe accurately express what he himself was feeling, staring at the stars, outside the home of an abused, neglected boy and his abusive, crazy mother.

He could stand the physical pain because he knew there would be an end to it. This, however, this longing, this ache, this pain, this hurt, it would have no end. This joy, this elation, this high, would never stop. This feeling… loving him, hating himself, wanting him, dreading him, waiting for him, leaving him.

It would have no name. It would never have a name. Ritsuka was Loveless. He had realized that night, because Ritsuka had given all of his love away, and he did not know how to take any love in return. He did not want any love in return. He was Loveless, he knew, because he had never known love until he had met Ritsuka.

And as he stood there, for a moment he could see clearly. And he knew. He knew what to call the little flame inside of him. The world was still and silent. But silence does not last forever, for as soon as it started, the moment ended, and he was once more alone in the darkness.

There was the sound he had been waiting for; the crash that meant it was safe to come up. That crash usually signified the worst was over and soon she would be going to bed, and Ritsuka would be left to lean himself up alone.

He took another drag on his cigarette; then crushed the embers beneath his heel and headed for the window.

As he'd expected, Ritsuka was in his room, trying to bandage himself. For a second or so, he watched him struggle with soft eyes. Some would call this behavior strange, stalker-like. He would. Ritsuka wouldn't. He opened the window; it was unlocked. Ritsuka always left it unlocked.

Ritsuka didn't even turn around. "Hi Soubi."

"Hello Ritsuka."

There was a silence as they embraced.

From somewhere in his chest he heard a faint mumble. "She doesn't mean it, Soubi… you know she doesn't mean it… she's sick… she just wants Ritsuka back. I'm not her Ritsuka. I deserve this for taking him away."

He knew it was pointless to argue, but he did anyway. "Even so, you should let me take care of her."

"No! Soubi, she's my mother. I can't hurt her. I can't."

"….…I could."

"Soubi!" He shrugged and silently began to wash and bandage Ritsuka with the ease of one much practiced. With minimal grumbling, Ritsuka complied. He didn't mind Ritsuka's complaints or his protests; he knew that Ritsuka needed this. To experience a warm, caring touch restored his trust, it prevented Ritsuka from being like him. Desperate for any kind of touch, any kind of contact, hungry for someone, for anyone, to show him any kind of attention at all. He was screaming for help. Ritsuka would never have to do that. Ritsuka had him. To hold him after, to wash off the pain, to run to, to cling to.

Because he was Ritsuka's.

Ritsuka's Soubi.

The stars twinkle above in the night sky, winking in and out through the window where the boy sleeps against the adult, who stares into the never-dark night, his eyes searching desperately for the one that could change his life, the words coming alive inside of him with a new, far scarier, meaning.

The words had always controlled him, from the beginning. And they would control him now. Ritsuka had given him the best, most dangerous, words, left them on his tongue like the most delectable, poisonous drink. He should have known from the moment they were placed on his lips and sent from there, sent on off into the world inside of him, his mind, spirit, and body. They would respond to these words, producing something as fragile as a butterfly's wings, so ethereal only one touch would be the end of this surreal, blooming feeling inside of him, so tender and tentative, it could only be one thing.

Hope.


End file.
